Sun Will Come, We Will Find Our Way Home
by 101raysofsun
Summary: Clarke is unwillingly helping her mother out at a hospital for wounded soldiers. After her father's death, she can't seem to scrape her life back together. But when she meets Bellamy, a soldier who's been badly burned, her life is altered.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey guys! I'm just trying out a Bellarke fic that was inspired by the book **_After the Dancing Days**. **_**I'm going a different direction with Clarke's personality so I would love to hear feedback about that. Also as a disclaimer- I have zero medical experience so this fic is not going to be 100% accurate or perfect in any way. I'm sorry if that bothers any of you. I'm really just testing the waters with this to see how people respond before I continue. Anyway... thanks for reading!**

**Chapter 1**

I'm trying to wear less black. Mom says I look good in blue; says it'll help the men warm up to me. Not the kind of men you're thinking of- the single, successful ones she's been begging me to date- no, she's talking about the soldiers. My mom is a doctor at St. Jaha's, a hospital for soldiers who come home from the war missing pieces of their bodies or minds, sometimes both. I "volunteer" there. If volunteering means agreeing to go after one of mom's breakdowns about how "your father would want this" and "it's the best way we can give back". Give back what? Hasn't the war taken enough of our time and energy? I supposed those arguments would hold up against a rational person, but you haven't met Abby Griffin. She doesn't get it though. Patching up those soldiers won't bring back dad.

Yet, here I am. I'm wearing a light blue button up, borrowed from my mom's closet, over grey leggings. "At least it's less depressing than black," my mom said when I got into the car. The bench I'm sitting on is cold, black metal. The man next to me is named Miller. He's missing his legs and arms, so I'm reading to him Grimm's fairytales. Because what better way to cheer up a man who will never walk or touch the girl he loves again by telling him what really happened in Cinderella?  
"I'm tired, Clarke. Wheel me back in?" Miller's eyes have been closed the entire time I've been here. I doubt he even listens to the stories anymore, but pretends to for my benefit. Which makes me angry because hey, man I'm here to make you feel better, not the other way around. That's how it is with most of the men here. They tolerate me, but you could say my bedside manner is somewhat lacking.  
I dropped out of medical school when my father died. Something about losing a parent takes away a piece of you. I think the piece I lost was motivation. The second semester I failed over half my classes, I drove home from school and never went back. My mom let me move back in with her once she found out I hadn't left my apartment in over a week.  
I hate myself for falling this low.  
After I wheel Miller back to his room and help him into bed, I go to find my mom. I'm starting to get a headache and I'm hoping that's a good enough excuse for her to let me leave early. I spot her in the hallway talking to one of the nurses. She sees me before I can say anything.  
"Oh good! Here you are, Clarke. I have a job for you."  
I try not to groan.  
"One of the patients on level 4 needs his bandages changed. Room 400."  
Level 4. Those are the burn victims. I cringe. "Mom, I..."  
She smiles at me. "You can handle it, Clarke. If you need help just ask one of the nurses." Then she turns and walks down the hall.  
This is the first time I've worked with a burn victim. I'm not sure what to expect. I find room 400 and knock on the already open door. The man in the bed looks up at me. Both his arms are bandaged from shoulder to fingertip. His left leg is bandaged around the thigh and his right leg is covered to the ankle. He turns to look at me and I see that the skin on the left side of his face is blistered and raw from the collar of his hospital gown to his hairline. I also see brown eyes under a mop of curly dark hair. He's smirking at me even though the left corner of his mouth droops. I realize he's young, maybe a couple years older than I am. And he's handsome. Very handsome.  
"You should see what's under the gown," he says and I can feel the heat spread over my cheeks.  
"I'm here to change your bandages. I'm Clarke," I say, trying to stop the blush his comment caused. I walk over to the bed and check his chart.  
"Bellamy." His voice is rough and sounds like it's scraping his throat. "You're not a nurse." He eyes my outfit.  
"No. But my mom is a doctor here and I'm helping her out with some patients."  
"I see. She's making you do the dirty work."  
I raise an eyebrow. "Dirty work?"  
Bellamy stares straight ahead. "Take off those bandages and see for yourself. Never had the same nurse twice."  
I glance down at his arms and legs, covered in gauze. My hands clench into fists for a second as I steel myself for the task ahead of me. Then I slowly begin peeling away the cloth from his leg. At first it's not so bad, the skin is pink and shiny, but it looks like any burn I've gotten being careless with the oven or a lighter. Then I get to his arms. The flesh is red and raw. The bandages come off bloody in places where his skin has been burned to the bone. My stomach churns uncomfortably and I can feel my palms beginning to sweat. This is why I wasn't cut out for medical school, I'm too squeamish. His other arm is just as bad. After I've removed the bandages, he's painful to look at. All that burnt, red skin. How Bellamy isn't screaming from the pain is beyond me. I steal a look in his direction. There are tears in his eyes are his teeth are clamped together. "Told you it was bad." His voice is strained.  
"I've seen worse." My voice is too weak to be convincing. Bellamy lets out a harsh laugh. "You're a terrible liar."  
Bellamy is silent while I coat his skin in an antiseptic and cover his wounds in fresh bandages. I guess he's in too much pain to speak. And I'm trying too hard to not throw up to attempt conversation. When I'm done I write the date and time on his chart so the next nurse knows when to change his bandages.  
"Well, Bellamy. You're all set. Can I get you anything else?" I stand at the foot of the bed.  
He stares at me. "Are you shitting me?"  
I take a step back from the hostility in his voice. "Excuse me?"  
"Can you get me anything else? Do you think this is a fucking restaurant? I'm sorry sir, we're fresh out of new skin but can I get you anything else while you slowly die?"  
"I-"  
Bellamy cuts me off. "Actually yes. You can do something for me. Next time have the Doc send in a real nurse. At least they have the decency to not ask stupid questions." He turns his face away from me and glares out the window.  
My face burns with anger. "No wonder you've never had the same nurse twice," I say, hoping my words sting as much as his do. I turn and leave without waiting to see his reaction.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

After the day with Bellamy, I decide I'm done working with the patients on the medical side of things. I tell my mom I'll keep reading to Miller but ask her to please don't ever make me do that again. She gives me a disappointed look but agrees. I almost want to apologize for not turning out to be the medical protege that she had hoped for. Instead I go to my room and find my old drawing supplies. It's not much, some pieces of charcoal and a sketch pad, but maybe Miller will actually stay awake if we do something different.

I find Miller on the lawn in front of the hospital. He's sitting at a table with another boy in a wheelchair. His back is to me, but I recognize the dark hair. Just as I start to turn away, Miller calls me over. I have no choice but to face Bellamy. Our interaction from the day before plays over in my head as I near the table. Bellamy turns and I almost drop my sketch pad in relief when I realize it's not him. It's a different soldier and his hair is not at all similar to Bellamy's. Am I hallucinating?  
"Earth to Clarke." Miller snaps his fingers in front of my face and I realize I've been staring.  
"Sorry. I uh… you looked familiar for a second."  
The boy smiles and nods. Then he turns to Miller and makes a gesture.  
"Clarke, this is Monty. Lost his voice in the war and can't seem to find it again."  
Monty gives me a shy wave and then stares down at his hands. He can't be older than 18.  
"Hi, Monty," I say as I pull up a chair. The sun is shining bright today and it lifts my mood. I can almost convince myself that I'm happy to spend the day with Miller and Monty.

Somehow the morning passes quickly between sketching Miller's portrait and trying to understand Monty's gestures. I wheel them both to physical therapy after lunch and then I'm alone. I don't try to find my mom because I've learned my lesson with doing that. I figure a nap under one of the trees in the lawn isn't a bad idea. I lay down and hope I sleep through the rest of the day. As much as I almost enjoyed the morning, I still can't escape how depressing the hospital is. All those men, some younger than me, spending their days trying to recover from wounds that will never heal. Not really. I've heard enough horror stories from the men to know that they never really come home all the way. I feel tears on my cheeks. I reach up to wipe them away but a voice behind me makes me freeze.  
"What are you doing?"  
I sit up and turn around so quickly my vision goes dark for a few seconds. Once it clears, I see Bellamy on the path behind me. He's in a wheelchair, but instead of wearing a hospital gown he's dressed in white pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. He rolls forward until he's next to me.  
"I was taking a nap." I stand up and brush the grass off my pants. "But you woke me up, so I guess I'm done."  
Bellamy laughs. It's a genuine laugh that crinkles his eyes. "Well excuse me, Princess."  
"Don't call me that." I say, turning to leave.  
"Princess, wait," Bellamy calls after me. I stop and turn to glare at him.  
His face is serious, all traces of laughter are gone. "I actually came over here to say sorry. About yesterday." He shifts his bandaged hands on his lap. "I don't— I'm not—" He sighs.  
Some of my bitterness toward Bellamy fades as I watch him fumble over his apology. He must be in so much pain and all I did was add to it.  
"It's alright. I— I'm sorry I reacted the way I did."  
Bellamy looks me up and down and then smirks. "I was practically naked so I don't blame you for freaking out."  
I stare at him. "You know you're pretty cocky for someone who's—" I catch myself, but it's too late.  
Bellamy's face darkens. "What, Clarke?" He holds up his bandaged hands. "A patient? Burn victim? Covered in bandages?"  
"I didn't mean—"  
"Come on, Clarke." Bellamy doesn't sound angry, just tired. "We've both seen me. We both know what you meant." He spins around and pushes himself away.  
I watch him leave, my shame causing any apology to stick in my throat.

My mom asks how my day was over dinner.  
"Fine," I answer. I'm suddenly no longer hungry. I excuse myself and go to sit on our porch swing. It's a warm May evening. One of those evenings where the sun never seems to fully set and everything glows faintly with the leftover warmth of the day. Kids in school will be getting anxious for summer vacation. It's only a few weeks away. My friends at medical school will be getting ready to take their licensing exams. I wonder how many of them will fail.  
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I jump. I forgot I had the thing, it goes off so rarely. I did a good job of pushing away any friends after my dad died so it's not often that someone calls. There's a text message from Raven. I stare at the screen, too afraid to open it.  
Raven worked with me at the coffee shop on campus. I did the customer service part, she made the orders. Her people skills are worse than mine and I'm pretty sure the only reason she got hired was because she knew how to fix the coffee machine if it broke. Which was always. Raven was studying mechanical engineering when I dropped out. In a way, she was my only true friend. Well, the only friend who even tried to hang out with me after my dad passed. I guess it was too hard for her because one day she just stopped coming over. And I never asked her why.  
I suck in a breath and open the text.  
_R: Hey stranger._  
I guess I shouldn't have expected anything more. Raven's too stubborn to break a 6-month long silence with more than two words. Like I said, bad people skills. I reply quickly so I don't overthink it.  
_C: Hey, Raven._  
It takes her less than a minute to respond.  
_R: You still hiding at your mom's place?_  
_C: Yeah._  
_R: Cool. I'll stop by this weekend._  
I'm not sure what to say, so I don't reply. I hope she comes. But I'm also afraid that she will.

When I go inside, my mom is asleep on the couch. Wisps of brown hair cover her eyes. She must be exhausted every day after working with those men. I kiss her forehead and go upstairs to my room. After I shower and climb into bed, I look over at the chair where I tossed my clothes. The word _PRINCESS_ is written in shiny pink fabric across the yoga pants I wore today. I want to laugh because Bellamy must have been looking at my butt if that's where he got the nickname from. But instead I cry myself to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter** **3**

I wake up the next morning with an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. I feel empty but I'm not hungry. My mom gives me a look when I refuse breakfast. She hasn't been eating much lately either. We spend the car ride to St. Jaha's in silence.

My mom parks the car and I grab the door handle to get out but she stops me. "Clarke, wait."  
I look at her. She stares out the windshield for a long time before clearing her throat. "I'd like you to change a few of the Level 4 patients' bandages again before you read to Miller today." She smiles at me, but it's weak. "You did well the other day. With Bellamy's bandages. I think you'd be a real asset to the nurses."  
I frown. That is exactly not what I thought she was going to say. I can tell that there's something else bothering her and she's doing a terrible job of hiding it. Instead of pointing this out to her, I sigh. "Mom, I already told you I'm done doing that."  
Her grip tightens on the steering wheel. "Please, Clarke. Do this for me?"  
I can't imagine that changing a few bandages is this important to her, but the pained expression she's barely masking hurts me. "Okay, mom." I place a hand on her arm. She gives me another weak smile and then gets out of the car.

I make my way slowly to Level 4. Bellamy is on the list of patients that my mom assigned to me. I would rather chew off my own arm than face him after our conversation the day before. I doubt he'll even let me touch him. I picture myself leaving his room, face burning, while he shouts for someone— _anyone_ else.

He's asleep when I get there, but he's not alone. A girl with long brown hair is sitting on the side of the bed. She turns when I knock. She's gorgeous— green eyes, clear skin. Her hair is braided away from the sides of her face. I give a small wave. "Hi, I'm Clarke. I'm here to change your brother's bandages."  
The girl gets off the bed and comes over to me. "I'm Octavia. Bell's sister. We were talking about you."  
My face burns. God. What did he tell her? "I… uh—"  
Octavia interrupts my fumbled sentence. "I mean I think it was you. All he mentioned was a pretty blonde nurse."  
I almost laugh in her face. "There's a lot of blonde nurses here. I doubt it was me. Besides, your brother and I aren't exactly… friends."  
Octavia nods. "Yeah he mentioned that, too."  
I swallow and walk over to the bed. I grab Bellamy's chart just to give my shaking hands something to do. I flip through the pages blindly.  
"Anyway, you're busy." Octavia walks to the door. "Nice to meet you, Clarke. Take good care of my brother." Then she's gone and I'm alone with a sleeping Bellamy.  
Now comes the awkward part. How am I supposed to wake him up?  
I clear my throat. "Uh, Bellamy?" Nothing. I try a little louder. "_Bellamy_." He lets out a soft snore. Crap, this is going to be harder than I thought. I walk around the bed so I'm standing by his head. I lean down next to his ear and open my mouth to shout. Suddenly, a nurse bangs into the room. Her hair is flying out of her bun. She looks between Bellamy and I and then backs out of the room mumbling a "sorry, wrong room".  
I turn my attention back to Bellamy and am startled to find him staring at me.  
"What the hell are you doing, Princess?"  
I stand up quickly and back away from the bed. "I was trying to wake you up." I grab his chart again and try to make sense of it through the cloud of embarrassment.  
"By kissing me?"  
I gape at him. "I was _not_ kissing you!" I shout.  
Bellamy's face stretches into his usual smirk. "You were trying to."  
"I was not!"  
"Getting a little defensive there, Princess?"  
"I'm not being defensive." I force my voice down to a normal octave.  
"That's what a defensive person would say." Bellamy's eyes are sparkling with laughter.  
I glare at him. "I'm here to change your bandages."  
His face drops. "What'd you do to piss off your mom so bad that she sent you back in here?"  
In the midst of all the awkwardness of the past few minutes, I'd forgotten yesterday.  
"She didn't make me. I volunteered." Okay, so that's a total lie, but I can't stand the way he's looking at me.  
Bellamy snorts. "Right."  
I put his chart down, having given up on reading it. "Are you going to make this harder than it has to be?"  
He sighs. "Just get it over with, Princess."  
This time, I don't feel nauseous when I look at Bellamy's burns. My hands are steady as I wrap the fresh gauze around his legs and arms. I apply an antiseptic to the burns on his neck and face, being careful to avoid eye contact. When I'm done, I start to write the date on his chart. But there's something about the numbers that makes my stomach feel the way it did when I woke up. I freeze when I realize why. It's my dad's birthday today. Now I understand why my mom was acting strange. I grip the pen in my hand so hard that it cracks and ink splatters all over the chart.  
"Uh, Princess?" Bellamy's voice sounds far away I try to look away from the chart but I can't. I can't move.  
"Clarke." This time he speaks louder. I tear my eyes from the paper and look at him. His forehead is wrinkled in concern. "Clarke, are you okay?" I can barely see him through the tears that blur my vision. I slowly shake my head, causing the tears to fall on my cheeks. Bellamy is motioning to something next to him. It's a chair. "Sit down."  
I obey and stumble to the chair. As soon as I'm sitting, Bellamy reaches a bandaged hand out and shoves my head between my knees. The rough motion causes me to lose my breath and I want to yell at him that this is not the way you treat someone going into shock. But I can't find my words.  
The solid pressure of his hand on my back gives me something to focus on. I hear him push the call button on his bed. By the time the nurse comes in, I'm able to sit up without feeling dizzy. She brings me a glass of water and starts asking me questions.  
"I'm fine," I say. My voice is weak but firm. "I'm okay. You can go now." And I do feel better.  
The nurse gives Bellamy a look before she leaves. He just shrugs.  
It's quiet for a few minutes while I catch my breath. Then Bellamy pushes himself up to a sitting position and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He rests his elbows on his knees and puts his face level with mine. "Mind telling me what the hell that was?"  
I push my hair off of my forehead and sigh. "It's my dad's birthday today."  
"So?"  
"He died six months ago." I say it like I'm answering a question in class.  
Bellamy is quiet. Then, "How'd he die?"  
I look at him. "He was murdered." I wait for his reaction, but there's no disgust or fear.  
He just nods. "So were most of my friends."  
I don't understand what he means until I realize he's talking about the war. I suddenly have the urge to kiss him because there's no pity in his voice. I've never wanted pity, just someone who would sit and nod like he is. Someone who could maybe understand.  
I stand up quickly. "I should go. I have other patients."  
Bellamy rolls with the sudden change in conversation. "I thought you weren't a nurse."  
I straighten my shirt. "Not yet." As I leave the room I hear him call, "See you tomorrow, Princess."

That night, after a dinner that neither my mom or I eat, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. All at once, it's too quiet. Too lonely. I slide out of bed and walk down the hallway to my mom's room. I stand just outside the door. My mom and I haven't talked about dad since he died, but I don't want her to be alone tonight. I knock softly, then go in. She's awake and she quickly wipes at her face and nose.  
"What do you need, Clarke?" Her voice is watery.  
I don't answer. I walk over and climb into the bed. The sheets are warm from her. I curl up next to her side and wrap my arms around her waist. She doesn't move for a long time, but just as I'm about to fall asleep, I feel her cheek on my hair and her arms close around me.


End file.
